Bubble-Wrap Knuckles – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

Fireworks popping off underneath skin,
an explosions against the brickwork.
Blood so bright it burns my retinas
and when I dreamed I can see it,
the splash,
the sizzle of colour.
My own fists tight as un-popped corks
deep in my dressing gown pockets,
buried under lint and hidden things,
like the sound of bone
on plasterboard,
always plasterboard,
this fuse pulled taught between my shoulders
and your face so dark with thunder
the crash of it in a plate on the kitchen floor,
slowly starts to clear.

I feel like I need to preface this poem with the fact that it is not a description of a real event, or specifically based on one real individual. We’ve had sporadic fireworks for the last couple of weeks, so if anything, those are the main source of inspiration. Right with that out of the way, here’s an audio recording of the poem, and a note to say go and check out the rest of the poems written for tonight’s DVersePoets sound prompt.

Down To The Bones Of It #DVersePoets #Quadrille

Spent an evening smashing holes

in the walls you’d fixed,

and smoothed with filler.

Waited for the dawn to discover

the bones of this house

now naked of plaster.

Wondered if I looked as broken,


If I would catch light

just as quickly.





To Town #WeekendWritingPrompt

She call them lollygagger,

adjusted the folds of her scarf,

let them watch her fingers

trace the sweep of her collarbone

like a wink

but not an invitation.


Clutched at the other hand

with smaller, damp digits

unsure eyes flickered from her

to the jackal-backed boys

circling their cigarettes,

tongues dragging across their teeth.


Nothing to be afraid of dear.




As Sure As The Orbit Of The Sun #DVerse

One of the men lifted his head

and looked at me

as we sloped past the ash fields,

and rows of toilers

like grey bamboo canes

if bamboo was stooped and bent

with brittle hands knuckle white

against the plastic handled hoes.


Her hands, smaller, firmer, sure,

came down on my shoulders

shadowed his face with fear.


An explanation in a classroom

pretending it isn’t an excuse

claims to be progress,

claims to be a new world

built on the broken bones

of the last.


Mothers scream during childbirth.

There is blood and pain

and sometimes



We are lucky we are not all toiling.

If the old world had their way

who knows what would have happened?

We are smarter these days

we can laugh at the facts

that shattered when the world changed.


Who know what will happen

at the next night rise.





Flicker Flame #DVersePoets #Quadrille

And I wondered

if the sight of me wavering

excited you.

Like a candle flame dancing,

your palm held

just inside the heat.

Contemplating the risk

of snuffing me out altogether.

Extinguishing that light

with one blow

one fist closing tight.

Did I excite?


Not the exact word for tonight’s Quadrille prompt, but a form of it is there, and according to the rules that’s alright.


Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay